


Only for you, Arthur. I use it only for you.

by ificouldwrite



Series: Merlin's Finale - A Rewrite [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Guilty Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Hurt Merlin (Merlin), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Temporary Character Death, There’s a happy ending I promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:48:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26276674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ificouldwrite/pseuds/ificouldwrite
Summary: Set during Diamond of the Day Part One, but because Merlin's magic is taken away from him he's slowly, slowly dying because since he IS magic I thought it would make sense if he started fading because it's the very thing that he's born of? Anyways.Merlin's journey coming to terms with his fate, and Arthur's, while Arthur comes to realize the man his best friend always was.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Merlin's Finale - A Rewrite [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1936918
Comments: 32
Kudos: 377





	1. Diamond of the Day: Part One

**Author's Note:**

> hey everyone! this is my first fanfic EVER and i'm SO sorry for how general everything is? I really do love this fandom and am happy to finally contribute a bit more to it even if it's not much ah sorryyyy
> 
> i'm definitely doing my best to improve and hopefully will be better at tagging and summaries in the future, thank you so much for reading! :D

Merlin stared out the window, his body aching as though drained of everything in his body. His head still spun from drinking at the tavern with Arthur, then coming home only to have a creature launch itself at his face, sucking the breath from him as though taking everything inside. In a way, it had been. "Look," Gaius called. "Here." He pointed at the book, fingerless gloves tracing along the carefully printed text. "It is the sign of the Gean Canach."

"Gean Canach? That's... that's the language of the old religion, isn't it?" Merlin asked, voice hoarse and raw. He made his way over to the table where Gaius sat, carefully studying the book of magic with his glasses perched upon his nose. 

"Indeed," Gaius confirmed grimly. "The Gean Canach is a fearsome creature, forged by the tears of the earth mother Nemaine." Merlin knelt down beside the table, studying the book with a feeling of dread eating away at his stomach. "It devours the magic of others, draining them of their power." 

"I thought all such creatures were destroyed in the Great Purge," Merlin said, the sinking feeling only worse with each word he read. The pain was there, too, crawling beneath his skin like ants. 

"All but one, it would seem," Gaius said heavily. 

"My magic... it's gone?" Merlin asked tentatively, afraid that the words would hold truth. 

"Perhaps not all of it," Gaius said with grim optimism. "They'll be traces, perhaps, but in time..." His voice trailed off and Merlin turned away. 

"I understand," Merlin said softly. He stood shakily, steadying himself on the table. Before he could say anything more, a knight burst into the chambers, out of breath and eyes filled with fear. 

Morgana had attacked. 

— — — — 

"It can't be a coincidence, that she's attacked when you're at your most helpless," Gaius said lowly. Merlin fixated on the wounded soldiers flooding the castle, catching a glimpse of Gwaine as he entered with Eira. 

"What do I do?" Merlin whispered, watching as knights passed him, bandages pressed to injuries as they hobbled down the corridors. Merlin's eyes fell, guilty that he could not help them, that he could not fight what was coming to them. 

"Well, for now, help me tend to the wounded. Your skills as a physician are still valid." Gaius gave him a reassuring nod before taking off to address the wounded. 

— — — — 

The numbing ache grew worse as Merlin stood listening at the council meeting. The knights spoke of sorcery, always of sorcery, and its evil. Leon and Gwaine, both with voices filled with disdain, shared the reports of the attack that occurred at The Garrison of Stawell. After everything, came Arthur's final statement. Camelot would be declaring war against Morgana and her Saxon army. To finally end it, man to man. 

Merlin expressed his intent to Gaius afterwards. "I'll protect him as best as I can," he said with surety, walking briskly into the physician's chambers. But Gaius shook his head gravely, following the young man as he sped to find something to help. 

"You can't protect him without your magic, Merlin," he said sadly. 

"Then I'll have to find a way to get it back," Merlin said stubbornly. "If there's an answer, I must seek it elsewhere." 

"But where?"

"The birthplace of magic itself. The Crystal Caves." 

"But the Valley of the Fallen Kings is crawling with bandits. Without your powers, you wouldn't stand a chance." Gaius' frown deepened. He crossed his arms over his chest, worrying over the boy who had become a son to him over the past ten years. Merlin turned to face him, insistent and hopeful, still a shadow of the person he once was. 

"That's why I won't be going alone." 

— — — — 

Gwaine and Merlin rode through the archway, away from the castle, away from Camelot where the knights and Arthur were readying for war. His last conversation exchanged with his king would haunt him, cutting deeper than he ever thought they would. 

_You know, Merlin. All those jokes about you being a coward...I never really meant any of them. I always thought you were the bravest man I ever met. Guess I was wrong._

Had Arthur called him brave before? Merlin couldn't recall. He thought on this sadly. _If only you knew all that I've faced. All that I was willing to face. All of it for you, my king._

Merlin shook the self-pity from his thoughts as he rode beside Gwaine, their horses trotting through the woods, sunlight filtering through the canopy of trees that towered around them. "Are you feeling alright, Merlin?" the knight asked worriedly. "You aren't looking too well." Merlin knew this, knew that the magic fading from him would not be appearing well on his face or his body, but knew better than to make the knight worry about him for something that would get him killed regardless if he was a friend or foe. It didn't matter anymore, when it came to magic. 

"Just thinking," Merlin said, deflecting the question. He was thinking, wasn't he? Of the battle, of magic, of how much pain he was in, of Arthur—

"About Camlann," Gwaine surmised. Merlin nodded, sighing. "They'll be alright. Princess is a lot more competent than you think." Merlin laughed. 

"Right, of course he is," he said, rolling his eyes with a smile, unable to hide the fondness lurking beneath it. Gwaine grinned at him as they continue to ride on through the Valley of the Fallen Kings, making easy chatter and conversation as their horse galloped through. 

Soon, they reached the cave, and after brawling with bandits and leaving them cut down, Merlin knew he would have to go the rest of the way alone. 

"You should get going. Arthur will need you at his side," Merlin said, turning to look at his friend. 

Gwaine stared at him a moment, yearning to say all the things he could not, wanting to express how much Merlin meant to him. Instead, "Look after yourself, Merlin." Gwaine offered his sword and Merlin looked at it almost wistfully, the hilt engraved with the seal of Camelot. "You know to use the sharp end, right?" Gwaine asked, teasing him. 

Chuckling, Merlin nodded. "Oh, yeah." He offered his arm and Merlin grasped it firmly. 

"I hope you find what you're looking for." Sharing a look, they nodded before parting ways. 

— — — — 

Alone in that cave, Merlin thought of all the things that he had done wrong, that he could have done differently. How much time had passed? Was he too late? But he knew he wasn't, he knew because there would certainly be agony if Arthur were gone. Killing a half of the whole would destroy him, too. Arthur's death would crush him. Would Arthur feel the same?

And then, his father, telling him he was proud, that he was not only Balinor's son, but the son of the earth, sea, the sky. Magic was everywhere around him, woven into the very ground he walked upon, hanging in the air that he breathed. Surely, it will come back to him. In time. 

When Merlin blinked and opened his eyes once more, his father was gone. Merlin sat up from where he lay on the ground, still in pain but not hindering him, magic still barely there. Enough to conjure a brilliantly blue butterfly with wings outlined in black, enough to apologize to his king for leaving by means of the crystals. 

His father and him shared parting words, motivation for what was to come and what was to believe in. _Your destiny awaits. Do not be afraid. Trust in what you are. Trust in what will be._

"Goodbye, Father," Merlin said, facing Balinor once more. His father smiled at him, pride and despair at having to part so soon. Merlin turned towards the light to find his king. 

— — — — 

It was bloody. Men littered the field like confetti, blood staining the earth as the swords clanged against one another. Merlin spotted Arthur from atop the hill as he stood, watching the battlefield writhe with dying men. The warlock knew that there would be men he knew, men he'd befriended in his time at Camelot. He swallowed, body thrumming with adrenaline. 

Spotting Arthur amidst a circle of Saxons, Merlin searched within himself, the magic his father claimed was all around him. Then, from the clouds, fell lightning, electricity crackling and striking the hearts of the men who threatened his king. Arthur turned to where it had come from, the source of such power. At first, Arthur could only see the silhouette of the figure, but when lightning flashed again, he saw the contours of his face, the familiar red neckerchief. The worn coat he'd seen since the first day they'd met.

_Merlin._

There was no disguise, nothing that hid his face from view, not even an aging spell. For once, Merlin stood there, upon the hill, and looked down at Arthur with grim determination in eyes that sizzled gold. The two stared at each other a moment, before Arthur forced himself to turn away, unprepared to process everything now.

"FOR THE LOVE OF CAMELOT!" he shouted, raising his sword into the air. The remaining men charged into battle once more. 

— — — — 

At a time of quiet, Arthur knelt down to see the life fade from one of his knights as he reached down to help him, too late as he took his last breath. The king had too many thoughts running through his mind, thinking on Merlin, of why he'd left, on everything that had led up to this battle—

Then, footsteps, crushing dirt and never as silent as Merlin's were. Heavy and insistent and familiar. Mordred. 

Arthur stood from the ground to face a man who he'd hurt unbearably, a man who undoubtedly would hurt him. The clash of swords echoed in the still air, and when Mordred drew back, Arthur hesitated as he looked upon the face of a boy he once considered a friend, once protected. In that moment, Mordred surged forwards with his blade, but where Arthur expected to feel the sword plunge into him, he felt nothing. 

The whir of brown was too quick, a blur of blue and red dizzying as it stepped in front of him. There was an in drawn breath as the sword found a target, and was removed just as swiftly as it had entered. The figure collapsed to one knee, clutching at his side. Arthur didn't hesitate then, taking his sword and carving it into Mordred's chest, impaling him on the blade. Arthur held there, grasping the uniform that was entirely different from that he once wore, looking into the boy's eyes. Pulling it free, he clutched the uniform for a moment, and as a breath passed, Mordred smiled before Arthur released him to the ground. Dead.

Arthur stared at the body, panting as he registered what he had done. The silence afterwards was deafening, until—

"Merlin." Arthur rushed to his manservant's side where he was curled over the wound, the wound that was meant for him. Arthur turned him over onto his back and Merlin gripped his king's arm, wincing in pain. "You're alright, you're alright." 

"I was in time," Merlin said, tugging at Arthur's chainmail. "I defeated them." 

"No, you didn't," Arthur said. "It was the sorcerer." Merlin was holding back tears, not of pain or agony, but sadness. He took several shuddering, shallow breaths. 

"It was me." Merlin was sobbing now as he held Arthur's arm to his chest, desperately clinging onto him. 

"Why... why would you say that?" But deep down, deep down Arthur knew. 

"I'm a sorcerer," Merlin choked out. "I have magic." He paused, perhaps to collect himself, to force himself to explain. "And I use it for you, Arthur. Only for you." Arthur was stunned, looking down at his friend who was bleeding out right before his very eyes, telling him he had magic. That he was a sorcerer. A _traitor—_

"You're not a sorcerer, Merlin. I would know," he said soothingly, pushing the dark hair away from Merlin's clammy face, ridden with cuts and grime from who knows where he's been. Merlin's eyes fell, the startling blue now dulling as the life seemed to seep out of him. 

Merlin shook his head. "Here," he murmured, holding out his hand. In his palm, a tiny flame sparked, morphing into a dragon before Arthur's eyes. It was not lightning, not the trembling of the earth that made Arthur realize, but a tiny dragon made of embers, gold like Merlin's eyes as they began to dim. 

Arthur began to pull away, dragging himself from Merlin's hold, disbelief and betrayal and anger coursing through him like a river. The emotions flitted from one to the other, always changing, always growing worse and filling with rage. Merlin watched the turmoil, heartbroken that Arthur would react in such a way. But was he really surprised? No, for he knew Arthur nearly as well as he knew himself,and had foreseen such resentment. This would always be the outcome, and he knew how much this had cost him, knew that it would cost him the relationship he had with the king. Nonetheless, it was over now, wasn't it? Merlin needn't worry anymore, for Arthur's bane was dead. Though Morgana was still out there, somewhere, Merlin had no doubt Arthur could defeat her. Even without him. 

Arthur stood, towering over the wounded sorcerer, fuming that he had once considered him a friend. Merlin lowered his eyes, his hand falling back to his stomach to the gaping hole in his abdomen. The king took a step back, and then another, and many more, all the while watching. 

He couldn't be spending another second with a liar.


	2. Diamond of the Day: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur slowly comes to terms about Merlin's magic and goes through the mental journey he went through in the last episode, except he has more time to really process everything since he isn't dying... but this time someone else is.

Arthur spent too long pacing. The moment he returned, the knights tried to speak to him, relieved that their king had returned from the battle safe and shockingly unscathed. Guinevere was there, too, embracing him tightly, but she saw the internal struggle in his expression, knew why it was there. She patted his arm before going to Gaius to help tend to the soldiers, leaving Arthur alone to ponder over all the events that had passed in the last few hours. 

There were bows and gratitude from everyone who had survived, mourning for the dead while knowing those who were killed had died for their people. There was a victory to be celebrated; Camelot had won the war. Outside of his tent, cheering. The knights would finally return home. 

But someone would not. 

Gaius was tending to injuries and packing his medicines and poultices when the king burst into the physician's tent, eyes red and face flushed. "Sire? I haven't seen you since I checked you for wounds, are you alright?"

"I need to speak with you," Arthur said sternly. "It's urgent." Gaius followed the young monarch out of the tent, confused and concerned but having an idea as to why Arthur was so distraught. His suspicions were confirmed when Arthur said, in a hissed whisper, "Merlin's a sorcerer." 

The lack of reaction and response from the old physician caused Arthur to have another revelation. "You knew," he said, turning away with disappointment. 

"I did," Gaius said softly. "Where is he?" Arthur felt a pang of guilt as he thought of the woods where he had left the sorcerer, alone and bleeding and—

"He's been wounded," Arthur said bluntly. "He's in the woods." 

Gaius raised an eyebrow at this. "You left him?" 

"He's a traitor. I could have left him for dead." 

Arthur regretted the words as soon as they'd left his tongue. The statement filled the air between them, silence falling afterwards. Gaius pursed his lips and didn't say anything more, until, "If that is what you believe, sire, I do not know why you came to me." There was a reprimand there, as well as a hint of anger. No, there was insurmountable anger and disappointment in the physician's tone. 

"Will you see what you can do for him?" Arthur asked, unable to drown in the guilt any longer. Gaius nodded, hastily going into the tent to retrieve medicines and salves. 

— — — — 

They tethered their horses to a tree and dismounted. Gaius followed as Arthur led the way to where he had left Merlin, pulling away tree branches that were hanging low. At last, they made their way up a short incline and saw him. 

"My boy..." Merlin's eyes were closed, skin sickeningly pale with blood soaking his tunic, no longer blue with the crimson that decorated it like dye. Gaius immediately knelt beside him, pressing an ear to the boy's chest. After a moment of listening, he stood. "There's a heartbeat," he announced. "Will you go and retrieve some water, sire?" Arthur tried to pay no mind when Gaius had used a title where he once would use his name, nodding as he retreated to the trees. 

Softly, he heard, "He hates me, Gaius." The voice, faint and unmistakable, was filled with not only sorrow, but regret. "I thought... I thought—"

"It'll be alright, Merlin," Gaius assured him. "You'll be alright." 

"Mordred's dead," Merlin informed him insistently. "He's no longer Arthur's bane." Gaius' expression darkened slightly, and Merlin picked up on this immediately. "What is it?"

"I think... you may be mistaken." Merlin frowned. 

"He can't kill Arthur, he can't hurt him anymore." Arthur emerged from the treeline with the flask, and Merlin made eye contact with the king. Gaius reached for the flask as Arthur turned away. 

"You can return to the camp, sire," Gaius said, glancing at Merlin. "I'll take care of him." 

"What if he escapes?" Arthur blurted out in a panic. 

"Frankly, my lord, I do not know if he'll have the energy," Gaius said sternly. Arthur clamped his mouth shut, huffing. He shot Merlin a glance, wanting to say something scathing, but before he could, Gaius interrupted, "Let him sleep." 

Arthur went to tend to the horses when the physician followed him with a grave expression. "Will he survive?" Arthur asked. 

"There's a fragment of a sword embedded in his torso," he informed him, packing away the medicines into his medicine bag. 

"Can't he use magic to draw it out?" Arthur asked accusingly, _magic_ bitter on his tongue.

"No, he can't. I fear that the blade that struck him was forged in a dragon's breath. Not even his power can deny its will." Arthur turned to where Merlin lay, sleeping fitfully beneath an old oak tree. The two of them stared at the boy for a moment. Arthur glanced at Gaius and saw the slouch of his shoulders, already in mourning. 

Arthur swallowed the lump in his throat. "Is there anything we can do?" 

"Only the Sidhe possess such magic. In the midst of Lake Avalon, there is an ancient tower. That is the source of the power. You must take him there." Gaius paused a moment, considering. His eyes fell from Arthur's face. "Only if you are willing." 

Arthur wanted to argue why he would ever think otherwise, but remembered his words from early. _He's a sorcerer. I had the right to leave him for dead._ He swallowed, then nodded, almost agreeing with himself on a decision he hadn't voiced yet. "I'll get him there. How many days does he have?" 

"At best, two days." Arthur looked to Merlin at this. 

"We'll leave at first light." 

— — — —

Arthur propped him up against a tree when the sun was getting low. They had ridden the entire day, as swiftly as Merlin's body would allow them, which had not been... particularly fast. Now, Arthur was laying out their things in the dusk, as the night was falling rapidly, the sun having brought the warmth in the air down below the horizon with it. 

"Thought I knew you," Arthur said, tone accusatory and difficult.

Merlin winced as he shifted, trying to sit up. He slumped back against the tree, frustrated that he didn't have the strength to perform such a feat so simple. "I'm still the same person," he managed. 

"I trusted you," Arthur said with a shake of his head, striking the flint to start a fire. He was scolding himself for having been so stupid, to have someone so close to him be so traitorous. But was he? After all he had done?

Merlin looked up at him. "I'm sorry." 

"I'm sorry too." Arthur sat on the other side of the fire, then watched a scuffle of movement as Merlin sat up with a painful grimace. "What're you doing?" he said, his eyebrows furrowing. Merlin clutched his side as he made his way to the bedrolls where Arthur's boots were. 

"They need drying," he said, placing them beside the fire. Once he'd done that, he heaved an exhausted sigh and sat back against the tree to sleep. 

The next morning, when Arthur woke, there was food sitting in a pot for Arthur to eat. Merlin was tending to his own wounds, numbly trying to tie the bandage around his torso. Arthur sat up quickly, going to where Merlin was still sitting at the tree. 

"I prepared you breakfast, sire," Merlin said. 

"Why are you doing this?" Arthur demanded. "You're still behaving like a servant, even when—" _you're on your dying breath._ Arthur didn't finish the thought, and Merlin didn't encourage him to. Arthur helped Merlin tie his bandages, fingertips brushing against the smoothness of pale skin along his abdomen. He startled at how cold Merlin was. 

Then, cutting into his thoughts, Merlin responded with, "It's my destiny, as it has been since the day we met," Arthur couldn't help but stare at him, transfixed by the words. 

"I tried to take your head off with a mace," Arthur said, suppressing a smile at the memory, how the sun was so bright and how Merlin had drawn him in instantly, so different from those who let him push them around. 

"And I stopped you," Merlin said, chuckling, "using magic." 

Arthur sat back in disbelief, eyes widening. "You cheated!"

Merlin laughed this time, clear and genuine. "Yeah. You were going to kill me." 

"I should've," Arthur said, tone shifting immediately from casual conversation to genuine regret. Merlin was taken aback by the sudden anger, eyes falling away. 

"You could do it, now," Merlin said. "Though I'm glad you didn't... then, you could do it now. If you wanted to," he offered quietly. Arthur scoffed, but when he turned back to see Merlin's expression, he was shocked to find that he was serious. "Your sword, it was forged in that of a dragon's breath, as well. Made to kill beings of magic."

Arthur blanched at the implications of it. _It would be so easy,_ his treacherous mind thought, _to kill this sorcerer._

His thoughts conjured the image of driving the sword into Merlin's chest, or drawing it across his neck, slicing it open, watching the red stain his neckerchief and his clothes.

He suddenly felt sick. "Merlin—"

"I won't stop you this time," he said with a tired smile. "If you wish me gone, I won't stop you." He reached to Arthur's belt, where his sword hung, and unsheathed it carefully. Then, presenting it to Arthur as he had always done before tournaments, or jousting matches, or even before important events, he bowed his head. "Anything for you, Arthur." 

Arthur looked down at the blade, the gleaming metal catching on sunlight filtering through the trees. _I'd killed Mordred with this blade,_ he thought. _I've killed so many people with this weapon, could I kill Merlin with it, too?_ The answer was no. He could not, and would not. There was no world or lifetime where he would do such a thing. The very thought disgusted him. 

Arthur took the sword and he saw the infinitesimal tensing of Merlin's shoulders, the hunched form he'd seen from prisoners on the chopping block when there was no fight left in them anymore. Arthur cast the sword away beyond reach as though the hilt had burned him, far enough to show that it was no threat to his friend. Upon the noise of hearing it land softly in the grass, Merlin looked up at Arthur. "I wouldn't ever... I couldn't— you can't possibly think—" Arthur stammered for several moments. "You saved my life." 

"It’s my job," Merlin said. "Because of who you are, and who I am. Two sides of the same coin, Arthur. The prophecies always told me of it." Arthur didn't question this further. There were a million other things he had to worry about right now, such as the fact that Merlin had truly been ready to let his king _kill_ him. "You're a great king, Arthur. Camelot's nothing without you."

Arthur frowned at this. "There's plenty of people who are fit for the crown now." 

Merlin shook his head, disagreeing with such a ridiculous statement. "They'll never be another like you, Arthur." Merlin managed another smile filled with unmistakable relief, though weak and pale. Arthur looked at him with surprising wonder. He found himself doing that more and more often as the hours ticked by. 

— — — — 

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" Arthur asked, gently wiping at Merlin's forehead and temple, pressing the cloth to his cheek, trying to keep him awake as he fixated on something along the ground. His eyes crawled up to Arthur's at the question.

"I wanted to, but... you'd have chopped my head off. Or sent me to the pyre," Merlin said, and there was a tightness in his hoarse voice. 

"I couldn't have done anything to hurt you," Arthur said, raising the flask to Merlin's lips. For a treacherous moment, he glanced at Merlin's mouth, seeing the paleness of surprisingly full lips. Merlin swallowed with difficulty, obviously tired and numb. "But before... I'm not sure what I would've done," he admitted. 

Merlin nodded, pondering on this confession. "I knew the man your father was, how he raised you. I've seen what you believe about magic. I wouldn't have wanted to put you in that position." 

"That's what worried you?" 

Merlin's eyes flickered like candlelight, soft and tender and fond. "Some men are born to plow fields, some live to be great physicians. Others... to be great kings." He paused, looking at Arthur with a hope. "Me? I was born to serve you, Arthur, and I'm proud of that, and I wouldn't change a thing." Merlin looked up at him, gauging his reaction. "It'd be an honour to die for you." 

Arthur shook his head. It sounded too much like something of parting. A farewell. "You ready?" he asked, voice hoarse with emotion. Merlin nodded as Arthur threw his arm over his shoulders. 

— — — — 

"Strange," Merlin muttered to himself when the light had fallen. He was sitting with his back against a fallen tree, watching as Arthur emerged from gathering wood. 

"What's that?" Arthur inquired, setting the logs down beside the fire and retrieving a bowl of broth to feed Merlin. 

Arthur crouched beside him, scooping up some soup into the spoon. "You've never been so kind to me. I can't recall receiving such generosity." Though said a joke, there was a truth in his tone and Arthur felt strangely hurt by this. Merlin's smile faltered slightly as he saw Arthur's expression. 

"That's ridiculous," Arthur scoffed. When Merlin didn't answer, the knots that twisted and seized inside his chest tightened. He sat beside Merlin, tipping up his chin to spoon the broth into his mouth. "I consider you my closest friend." 

"I don't hear that often," he said, more to himself than to Arthur, but he heard him nonetheless. 

Arthur felt the need to say it again, and again, and again. But something deep within told him that there was something more, something unexplainable. "You're my closest friend," Arthur said seriously.

Merlin made a small noise at the back of his throat. His eyes welled with tears, clearly thinking on something. He thought of their conversation before he'd sought out to bring his magic back. "Not a coward, then?" This time, there was no attempt at hiding the hopelessness, how much Arthur had hurt him. When Arthur shook his head, and before he could say anything in protest, he continued, "Useless?" 

"Merlin, stop this."

Merlin sighed heavily. He'd never listened to Arthur before, and he wasn't going to start now. He forced out the word that had been on his mind for so long. "A traitor?" 

The pause was longer than he wanted it to be, confirming Merlin's doubts. He'd once wondered if Arthur would feel sorrow when he died. But if he was a traitor, would he still mourn him? Then, Arthur spoke. "Gaius told me you were born of magic," Arthur said quietly. "You can't control something you were born with, no less punish someone for it." Arthur looked at the wistfulness in Merlin's eyes. "I don't want you to change," Arthur continued. "I want you... to always... be you." Merlin stared up at him, lips parted as he basked in the genuine words, full of emotion and coming so directly from the heart. "I'm sorry for how I treated you," Arthur apologized, knowing it wasn't enough. That it would never be enough. 

"Does that mean you're going to give me a day off?" Merlin asked, a teasing smile on his lips, eyes still shining with moisture. Arthur had seen this before, seen how he'd deflect in a way to make conversations not as serious. To avoid telling a painful truth. He wish he'd seen the truth before, but now, he understood why Merlin wouldn't trust him with such things. 

"As many as you'd like," he said, mustering a grin. Merlin chuckled quietly, before his head lolled and his eyes fluttered with drowsiness. Arthur pressed a hand to his cheek, tender and affectionate, holding it there for a moment as he watched Merlin's breathing settle. "Get some rest," he said softly. 

— — — — 

Somehow, Merlin had mustered the strength to kill Morgana as they inched towards Avalon's waters. Arthur could see it, the shining surface where the tower stood tall upon an island. They weren't far, they would make it, he told himself. But Morgana had stood in the way. 

Now, Arthur watched as the life faded from her eyes, as they emptied of anything in resemblance to who she once was. Gone. 

Merlin slumped to the ground with exertion. Arthur rushed to him, lifting Merlin once again. "Brought peace at last," he said, praising him with a tight smile. "Come on." 

They were nearly at the edge of the water when Merlin collapsed completely, no longer able to carry his own weight. "We're nearly there," Arthur insisted. Merlin shook his head, feebly placing his hand on Arthur's arms as Arthur held him from behind. 

"It's okay, Arthur," Merlin said softly. "It's going to be okay."

"You have to hold on," Arthur argued, desperate now. "I can't lose you. Not after everything. Not after all that you've done for me, for Camelot... this kingdom you helped me build—"

"That could've been done without me," Merlin said with a tired smile. "You'll forget about me soon enough. You seem to have a knack for it." A joke ringed with truth once again. 

Arthur tightened his hold on Merlin's body. "No, I won't. I can't. There is no Camelot without you." Merlin looked at him, as Arthur's fingers intertwined themselves with Merlin's where they sat upon his chest, just above his heart. Arthur's eyes welled with tears, desperate and unbidden. "Please, Merlin," he begged, shaking him. "Hold onto me. Please... please don't leave me." 

"I'm sorry, Arthur," Merlin choked out. "Just— just... don't be a prat, _my lord._ " Merlin looked up at his king with his signature grin, though dimmer than it usually was, full of tender wonder and fondness as he took a long, shuddering breath. Arthur's fingers tightened as they wove between Merlin's, clutching desperately to them. 

As the light began to fade from the sky, Merlin thought of Arthur. He thought of his Once and Future King.


	3. The Once and Future King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last chapter! i hope you enjoy it, finally the happy ending i promised :D 
> 
> please leave comments if you'd like, those would be greatly appreciated! thank you so much!

There's a great feast and celebration scheduled for Arthur's return. The king doesn't arrive for days, and the people wait with baited breath. They are not awake, however, when he does ride into his kingdom.

It's in the wake of night. There are only guards who are awake, as well as a few servants tending to things. No one has seen such despair on the monarch's face before. 

He silently makes his way to his chambers. The guards do not stop him, awestruck and perplexed by his state. _He looks tired,_ they think to themselves. _He looks sad._

When he arrives, Guinevere is staring out the window at the courtyard below, the cobblestones lit in the moonlight, the guards' torches only a flicker from where she stands. She doesn't move when the door opens and closes; she knows who it must be. 

"Arthur," she says softly. "You've made it home." He nods silently. She crosses the room, in her night gown that flows so freely around her form. Guinevere places a hand on his cheek and studies him closely. "You look tired," she says. "You should wash up and come to bed." Guinevere calls for a servant, asking him to draw a bath for Arthur. He bows and goes to do so. 

In the wake of waiting for the water, Arthur reacquaints himself with his chambers. The dresser, the careful designs on the bed post. The table by the entrance of the room. There are things that only he and Guinevere could have left; a coat thrown over the back of a chair, her jewelry scattered on the counter below the mirror. Stacks of books that Guinevere has read, or plans to read, or will never read. 

There are other things, though, that are unmistakably _not theirs._ There are dents in the floor from things being dropped, a bucket of water just by the door. Candle stubs that hadn't been thrown out yet. A basket of laundry that hasn't been washed. 

A knock on the door, and a servant comes in with the water basin, the bath set up promptly and swiftly. Then, the servant disappears.

Arthur scrubs the grime and blood from his hands, his face, his neck— trying to rid himself of the remnants of the battlefield. There's blood on his hands, so much of it staining the skin. His stomach twists at whose blood it is and tries to shake the images from his mind. 

Once he's done bathing, the two of them retreat to the massive bed, piled with pillows and blankets, all fit for a king. He is not used to it after sleeping in the forest for so many nights, or by the waters where he'd—

Arthur blinks, tearing himself away from the memories he wishes to forget, curling on his side. Guinevere doesn't push him to speak. She knows that he does not have words to say. 

— — — — 

In the morning, Arthur is reluctant to leave the bed but he's also drowning in the heat of the covers, almost yearning for the cool air in the woods. Guinevere's already left the bed. It doesn't feel strange to have no one beside him, he thinks, but he notices the absence of someone waking him. 

The next night, the feast takes place. There is a parade during the daylight hours, celebrating the king's return and the victory of Camelot. Arthur does not leave his chambers. Still, he has not said a word. 

Guinevere knows about Merlin's magic; she'd spoken with Gaius once they'd had the chance to speak upon their return. She tells him she's pleased and proud of him for all that he's done, but there is sorrow there as well. She cannot bare the thought that her friend may be dead in a few days if her husband does not bring him to Avalon in time. From the forlorn expression that has yet to leave Arthur's face, she knows he did not. 

Arthur hasn't stopped staring at the desk full of speeches Merlin had written before they'd left, in the case of their victory and the case of their loss. He traces the inked letters, the handwriting that he'd grown so familiar to reading. Deliberate with a hint of something cluttered and sporadic. 

"Arthur," a voice says gently, tearing him away from the words that seem to drown him. "The feast is to begin soon." He forces himself to look up. Guinevere stands there, beautiful and regal in her Pendragon red gown. 

"Start on without me," he manages, attempting at a smile that looks too false and feels too painful. "I'll be there shortly." Guinevere closes the door behind her and makes her way across the room, pulling up a chair to sit beside him at the desk. 

"The people need their king," she says. "They need to see you there." 

Arthur stares at her, then nods minutely. She offers her hand and guides him out of the seat, out of the room, down the corridor and into the dining hall, the echoes of festivities and celebration bouncing off the stone walls. 

— — — — 

The knights are all tired, but they had returned long before Arthur had. The king doesn't think on how much time must have passed since he'd sought out for Avalon, since the end of the battle at Camlann. It's jarring, the contrast between a grim battlefield and life here in the castle. He watches as the servants pour wine and clear away platters that are now empty of food, picked clean by all the nobles. He expects to see a mess of dark hair, a red neckerchief, a brown coat— so different from the uniforms all the other servants wear. Arthur finds the surge of emotion overwhelming, desperate to leave.

Abruptly excusing himself, he murmurs some vague reason to Guinevere as his knights watch him leave. He hears the whispers, receives the concerned looks from Leon and Percival. Gwaine is still under Gaius' care, recovering from Morgana's relentless torture. Arthur is making his way to his own chambers when he decides better of it, and goes down a different corridor. 

His eyes linger on the sign that reads _Physician's Chambers_ for a moment, and he swallows before making his way up the steps, boots loud against the stones. 

He knocks on the door, softly. The silence is there, so great and massive it's suffocating. The door opens before he can retreat down the steps. 

"Sire," Gaius greets without the enthusiasm he usually has. He knows Merlin hadn't returned with the king. "Come in." The old man beckons for the king to follow him into his chambers, shoulders hunched, eyes weary as he rakes over Arthur's face. There have been battles where he sees parents mourn for their sons who didn't return home. Never has he seen the despair on someone so dear. Never has he felt it as strongly.

The chambers are just as Arthur had seen them last, but there is something so entirely different about it. He wonders now, how all things can be the same, how Camelot can look precisely how it always had but nothing would ever be normal anymore. 

"Is there something you need, Arthur?" Gaius asks. 

"I... no," Arthur says, choosing to be a coward. "No, I apologize. I just wanted to..." _To what? Apologize? It's far too late for that._

"You need rest," Gaius says, the familiar tone of worried fondness in his voice once again. The one Arthur remembered from when he was just a boy. "I'll give you a poultice for you to take tonight." 

"No, that won't be necessary," Arthur says, shaking his head quickly. His dreams are the only place he can see Merlin again. "Thank you, Gaius." Like a child, he scurries away from the physician before the old man can say anything more. 

— — — —

It goes on like this. The days turn into weeks and the weeks turn into months. Arthur has Leon train the new recruits. He goes out to the training fields a few times a week to greet his new knights. Gaius writes to Hunith about Merlin. Arthur can't bring himself to read the letter she sends to them in return. 

He makes amble conversation with Guinevere, but she is just as perceptive as she always has been and knows there's a shift that's brought a tension between them. There is no anger or frustration, but it's awkward and uncomfortable and they spend their dinners in quiet. 

Gwen knows that look on his face because she wore it, once, when she'd lost Lancelot. It's different than losing a friend. Pain is far more potent when losing a lover. Something happened in the forest that Arthur can't seem to recover from. The far away look hasn't left his eyes for one second since he's returned. He's almost just as much a ghost as Merlin is. 

The two of them are sitting in their chambers as Arthur stokes the flames while she reads a book, carefully turning the pages. 

"Gwen?" he says at last. She looks up from the book immediately. 

"Yes, Arthur?"

He stares at the fires for a long moment. "Do you miss Lancelot?" She frowns slightly. 

"Why do you ask?" she asks curiously. 

"I know how you loved him," he murmurs. "How he loved you." 

Gwen leans forward, resting her elbows upon her legs. Arthur turns towards her, expectant but not commanding. "I do. Miss him, I mean," she says at last. "Every day." She pauses a moment, then, "I know now that I was enchanted when I betrayed you, and still I feel terrible for the pain I had caused you. I never would have done so of my own free will. But Arthur..." Gwen sighs. "I love you, I do. With all my heart, I swear upon it. But Lancelot... I do not think I have loved anyone as much as I loved him." Arthur nods in understanding. He is grateful for the truth and now it does not hurt him as it might have before. "Sometimes, I miss him so much I can't breathe." 

Arthur nods again. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright," Gwen says with a half-hearted shrug. She makes her way over to sit beside him on the rug. "Arthur..." She rests her hands on his knee and looks up at him. "I know you love me, I'm certain you do. But... but I also know what that look is for." Arthur stares at her, listening carefully to everything she says. "There was always something unexplainable between you and him." The _him_ doesn't need to be addressed. They both know Gwen's referring to Merlin. "I saw it in the way you looked at each other, the love that's there. It's as though you're two halves of a whole." The words sound so similar to those he'd heard under the roof of a forest. _Two sides of the same coin, Arthur._

"I miss him," Arthur croaks. "I miss him, Gwen." 

"Arthur..." The queen stands and wraps her arms around Arthur's trembling body as he buries his face in her middle, tears soaking her night dress as he sobs uncontrollably. She strokes his hair comfortingly, soothing him as he cries for his friend. For his lover he never confessed to. For Merlin.

— — — —

"Do you want to go get a sleeping draught from Gaius?" Gwen asks him. Things are easier now between them with both knowing that their hearts will always be held by another. "It may help you sleep, you haven't rested properly for... a while. I feel you toss and turn at night." 

Arthur swallows. "That's a good idea," he says, but he doesn't seem to agree with it. He nods seriously, as though trying to convince himself. "Thank you, Guinevere. I'll be back in a moment." She smiles at him and watches as he retreats from their chambers and ventures towards the physician's chambers. 

It takes Arthur too long to arrive. It's a great effort to force himself up the steps. He hasn't been there since the day of the feast, when everything had looked too familiar and the wounds were too fresh. A shaky breath escapes his lungs as he knocks on the door, only to find it open. 

Gaius isn't there. He must have gone to retrieve something from the markets, somewhere nearby. Arthur peers in, and carefully steps inside. 

It smells just as it always does, of herbs and various plants, crushed ingredients kept in jars on the shelves and the tables. It's messier, he realizes. The books are not as organized as they usually are, all the ingredients a mess on Gaius' desk. Arthur ventures further, careful not to knock anything over, eyes roaming from one thing to the next. Then, he sees the door just atop the wooden steps, almost hidden but not quite. Arthur takes a deep breath, and in a trance, he's pulled towards the door. 

It was left unlocked. Arthur pushes it open with the palm of his hand, and he's punched with the strange familiarity of it all. The walls, the bed, the little things on the desk. There are drawings pasted onto the wall, rough sketches that are remarkably good. Some are of the Darkling Woods, others of the lower town. A few are of him, and Guinevere, the knights. Gwaine laughing, Lancelot grinning. Percival and Leon over a pot of stew, Elyan staring at something in the distance, a peaceful smile on his face. None of them of Merlin. 

Arthur looks at the desk, sees crumpled pieces of paper with half-written speeches he'd only read the final product of. He blinks, remembering the words, and wonders how much time Merlin had spent writing things for him to say at important events, never once getting proper thanks for all the effort he'd put in. Arthur feels a sting at how often he criticized Merlin, not once thinking of how much his words had hurt him in the end. How in the woods, with a gaping hole in his torso, Merlin felt the need to ask Arthur if he was useless. 

The king doesn't feel like a king anymore as he places the parchments back where it had been thrown, walking to the bed that is a quarter of the size of his own, with covers that are rough to the touch and worn thin, surely too cold for winter. He runs his fingers along the fabric, and ever so carefully sits down on the very edge of the bed. 

A little dragon is on the night stand, carved out of wood. It's a replica of the one Merlin had gifted him for his last birthday. _"A dragon for the Pendragon,"_ Merlin had said with a grin. He'd been nervous, Arthur remembered, as he watched Arthur unwrap his gift, meaning he'd put a lot of effort into it. 

_"Thank you, Merlin."_

He wishes he'd said it more often. He wishes he'd said a lot of things now. 

Furiously, he wipes at his eyes but they burn with emotion, throat tight and raw. He's frustrated and full of sorrow and regret as he basks in the nostalgia of this room, of _Merlin's_ room. How can someone be here and not be here? How can a room be too full of someone who will never walk in it again? 

"Sire?" 

The king jumps at the sound of the physician's voice, whipping around. "I was just—"

"It's alright, Arthur," Gaius says tiredly, holding up a hand. "I miss him, too. He was a son to me, and I never expected to have such a blessing so late in my life." 

"I tried to get him there, Gaius," Arthur croaks. "I tried, we were nearly there, but it was just... the waters claimed him, and they told me that they'd watch over him and I begged them to bring him back to me, and they said in time they would—"

"The Sidhe are full of riddles," Gaius says with a shake of his head. "What else did they say?"

" _Magic sleeps in the Lake of Avalon so long as it dwells trapped in the heart of Camelot,_ " Arthur recites. He looks at Gaius for guidance. 

"I believe, sire, that once magic is no longer outlawed in Camelot, then he will be released from his slumber in Avalon," Gaius says. "Only then, will he return to you." Arthur lights up with a hope but feels conflicted. Could that really be what the Sidhe meant? 

"Thank you, Gaius," he says softly. 

"Anytime, Arthur." 

— — — — 

Arthur works tirelessly to bring magic back to Camelot. It's a difficult process, the people are still so used to his father's regime that they're reluctant and fearful it's to draw the sorcerers out of hiding. But in time, he's able to bring the proclamation and legalize the laws, ensuring no one will be punished for something they can't control. Something that isn't evil. In addition to all of magic returning, the kingdoms of Albion are finally at peace. The treaties and alliances are signed and they no longer are enemies but friends, respecting Arthur as their king. 

A year has passed and the kingdoms have never been so full of life. It took adjusting, certainly, but now magic flows in the very streams, in the air. The people are happy. 

Arthur ventures off to visit Hunith. He's hesitant, feeling worried to face his friend's mother. But Ealdor welcomes him with open arms, the people bestow him little gifts to thank him for visiting. Hunith doesn't approach him right away, but he makes his way directly towards her. 

"Arthur," she says evenly. He waits for a moment, hesitant. Instead of yelling, or anger, or tears, she wraps her arms around him, embracing him tightly. "Thank you for all that you've done for him."

They sit and talk for a while. She makes Arthur tea and food, telling him stories of Merlin as a boy. She tells him how proud she is to have a son so brave. 

"He was proud to be your servant," Hunith says. 

"He was my friend, too," Arthur says. _And more than that as well._ "I should have made sure he knew that better." 

Hunith smiles, fond and bittersweet. "I'm sure he knew." Arthur shakes his head, certain that he didn't because of their last few conversations, but Hunith continues. "When you came to Ealdor, the first time, I saw how he needed you. A mother knows to see the love in her boy's heart, and it always was with you." 

The sun begins to sink and their conversation comes to a close. Arthur thanks her profusely and apologizes again, albeit tearfully. She waves him off, sending him thanks and appreciation and blessings. She tells him she's proud of the man he is, the king he has become. 

— — — — 

More time passes. Every few weeks Arthur visits the Lake of Avalon and tells the rippling waters of all that has been done. He came after the proclamation to tell them that magic had been restored. He came after Albion was united, and he came after he spoke to Hunith. Now, Arthur sets off in a fury. He goes alone. When he reaches the waters, he's raging. 

"YOU SAID YOU'D BRING HIM BACK TO ME," Arthur shouts at the waters. "I BROUGHT MAGIC TO ALBION. I'VE UNITED THE FIVE KINGDOMS AND BROUGHT PEACE TO THE LAND. WHAT MORE CAN I DO?"

The waters still, and then there is a blue mist that arises. " _Arthur Pendragon,_ " a voice hisses. " _We've been waiting for your arrival._ "

"Where is he?" growls Arthur. 

A Sidhe emerges, and floats before Arthur. " _Young Pendragon, you have brought magic to Albion. Well done,_ " the Sidhe sneers, " _but you have not freed it from the heart of Camelot._ "

"What does that mean?" snaps Arthur. "Camelot is part of Albion now."

" _In time, Arthur Pendragon, you will understand._ " 

Arthur watches as it disappears below the surface once more, and the mist evaporates completely. The king shouts at it, yelling profanities and curses and everything and more, then begs and begs and begs. Finally, he collapses to his knees, and cries. 

He believes that a day has passed because the sun is rising and the dawn is upon him quickly. His tears have dried and there's an emptiness filling him. He sits by the waters, resting his arms upon his knees, and speaks. 

"Merlin," he begins, "I think this may be my last visit for a while. I told you you could have as many day offs as you'd like. This isn't exactly what I meant," he says with a slight, sad chuckle. "I am... grateful, for all that you have done for me, all that you have lost, and am sorry to have caused you so much pain. I should have seen how different you were, how this burden of destiny was too heavy for you to hold on your own. You hadn't been the same as you once were. You always seemed so... sad.

"There's something I want to say that I've never said to you before," he murmurs, looking at the water, conjuring the memory of Merlin's smile and his eyes that shone so brightly when he was happy. "I love you." 

— — — —

The sun explodes in a tidal wave, drowning him in light and he's blinded for a moment before everything settles back. Someone is walking towards him, emerging from the waters. Arthur blinks and stares. 

Merlin stands there, tall and beautiful and just as he had been before the world had crumbled, smiling that smile Arthur hasn't seen for so long. He reaches a hand out to Arthur, unbelievably _there_ with those eyes that are so blue, dark hair wind swept and sticking out in places as though he'd just been through a storm. Arthur takes his hand in a wonder. " _Merlin._ "

"Missed me, haven't you?" Merlin teases, but his eyes are shiny with moisture and his voice is hoarse with emotion. Arthur laughs with disbelief and continues to stare at him in wonder. He pulls Merlin close, and presses his forehead to his, basking in this moment before leaning to capture Merlin's lips with his, gentle and tender and full of longing. When they pull away, Merlin's breathless. "I love you too, you clotpole."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and it's done! they're finally reunited ah i'm sorry it took so long, i really did want arthur to go through that ~angst~ while merlin was gone because i feel like we didn't get to see that enough in the show. 
> 
> also, i was thinking of maybe writing a sequel to this? with merlin and arthur sitting down and having a talk about all the times merlin has saved his life because wow there's a lot of times, and merlin becomes court sorcerer with lots of fluff fluff fluff. please let me know if that sounds like a good idea/if you would like that? 
> 
> if you've made it this far, thank you so so so much for reading this and i hope you enjoyed :D


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